


The Objective Must Pay

by mandaree1



Series: Teen!Delinquent AU [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Don't forget the issues., Gen, Mentions of cyberbullying and humiliation, Teen!Pines, The twins have a thirst for revenge, and issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6417448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandaree1/pseuds/mandaree1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper and Mabel do something bad to punish someone bad for doing something bad. It sounds heroic, but in reality it doesn't make it any less wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Objective Must Pay

**Author's Note:**

> Teens with battle skills, social problems, and a bit of PTSD (or the closest to it I can write properly) tend to get into a lot of trouble.

"Alright, let's review."

Pulling out a flow chart and tacking it to the board next to the statistics chart, photos of the objective's home, and examples of photos and statuses from various social media sites, Dipper suddenly has a realization that if they planned their study sessions as well as they planned their crimes, they'd both be back on the honor roll.

They're decent students, really, they are. They could be a bit better, is all.

Mabel giggles, legs swinging off the bed. Her short curly hair bobs a bit "I'm so excited!"

"Me too." He isn't above admitting that. He sets down a pointer they never really use. "But review is key."

She cleared her throat, making her face look serious. "You're right. Our parents?"

"Out of town. The objective's family?"

"Vacation." She points to a post on the board. "I love using plan-talk. It's all so cool-sounding."

Dipper ignored that. "We're sure of this _because_?"

"Because the objective is a dingus who posts _everything_." She nods to a pie chart she'd made showcasing this very fact, complete with unicorn illustrations, neon colors, and glitter. Lots of glitter. "He has an eighty percent honesty rate, with only ten percent of the remainder being bragging."

"We've also seen photos of the tickets." He nodded in turn to a picture. "The quality of the photo suggests a lack of skill, so Photoshop is unlikely. The serial number also states otherwise."

Mabel laughs. "My brother, the hacker."

He flushes, feeling the urge to peek around to see if anyone was listening. Their family was gone, but that didn't mean no ears were around to be open. "'M not that good. Besides," He clears this throat. "I'm not the one leaving graffiti on abandoned buildings." If he's going down, she's going down with him.

"Hey!" Mabel sniggers. "I'm proud of my illegal babies."

She would be, he thinks, remembering the tattoos on her arms, underage and fake-ID gotten. Not that he can talk; he's planning on getting full sleeves someday of some essential magic knowledge and spells.

"Okay, bro-bro. We gotta focus." She straightens her shoulders. "Do we have the photos?"

Dipper nods to the plastic baggies, a twinge of guilt bubbling up inside of him. "I feel bad for the victim."

"Well, duh." She rolled her eyes. "That's why we're doing this, remember?"

True enough. Mabel was the one who found the poor boy beaten unconscious in the boy's bathroom, having heard the growing rumors. He'd been covered in his own bile, pants- but, thankfully, not underwear- pulled down for all the world to see. Photos had started circling the internet soon after. The reminder makes him clench his fists.

"Save the anger for the smashin', O' brother o' mine." Mabel hums, but Dipper sees the righteous fury sparking in her eyes.

"Right." He breathes out a sigh, shoulders slumping. "Cameras?"

"None!" Mabel looks positively giddy. "The neighborhood is so quiet, no one ever bothered to install them. Except for that one guy, but he's a street over. Police?"

"Circle every once in awhile but mostly focus on patrolling problem areas. Since there's no obvious alarms, we should be fine." Dipper cites. It's almost fun, them quizzing each other like this. "Objective?"

Mabel squints at him. "...Objective the person or objective the mission?"

"Mission. The objective will get the objective in objectively astronomical trouble."

"Ooh, tongue-twister. Bring proof of objective's sins and plaster them to every single flat surface we can find. The victim(s) must be avenged. And break his computer."

Dipper pauses. "We're breaking his computer?"

" _Vengeance_!" Mabel hisses, shaking her fists. "He must never be able to post again!"

"Point taken." He nods his agreement. They might as well cover their bases. "Are we prepared for any _legal_ repercussions we may face after this excursion if we're found guilty?"

In other words- are they prepared to go to jail for this?

His sister smiles at him. "Always. But that would require catching us."

"Anything is possible." He replies, pulling a string bag over his shoulders, filled with multiple baggies-full of photos of the objective's victim.

"We'll go down as heroes!" She cheers.

"Or violent busybodies." He replies, pulling a bat out from behind the board and holding it like a gentleman holds a cane, sans the monocle. He watches as Mabel snags a golf club; bought and kept specifically for things like this.

"Same thing!"

Dipper snorts. They both pause, staring at the weapons in their hands as though they've never seen them before. "You know, this is really wrong."

"You're right." Mabel replies. "We almost made a horrible mistake."

Without another word, they traded the tools. Dipper weighs the familiar shape of the golf club in his hands, a grin on his features.

"Better."

* * *

 

The idea of pick-pocketing the objective of his keys had come up during the debate, but had quickly been shot down. Not drawing suspicion was rule number one.

"I can pick bank vaults, car locks, and jail cell locks." Mabel had proclaimed; all lessons having been bummed off their dear grunkle Stan. "It'll be a snap."

"Stan once told me that parents lock their doors more tightly than the queen's guard." She grunts, tongue sticking out in concentration. "I thought he was kidding."

Dipper mumbles a quiet agreement as he peers around the back corner of the house, eyes narrowed. A couple had walked by earlier, forcing them to duck into some bushes and hope the neighbors were as oblivious as they seemed, and he didn't plan to repeat the experience.

The door creaks open. "Okay. Got it."

They confidently stroll inside, looking for all the world like two teens paid to take care of the house while the family is gone.

For all points and purposes, they look like a living lie.

"Upstairs." He orders quietly. "I got the first floor."

Mabel turns to him, an argument in her flexed shoulders and narrowed eyebrows. "But-"

"The objective's room is upstairs." He reminds her; Mabel had stalked the neighbors, but he had been the one to check out the house.

Her eyes lit up. "Can I wreck it?"

"As long as it's _only_ his. We don't wanna give the objective's family any trouble."

Mabel nods and heads for the stairs. Dipper grabs the pictures and some glue and starts pasting. The objective's parents were blissfully ignorant of their child's horrific nature. Now, with photos of the objective mid-beating and post (hacked from security cameras outside the bathrooms and some connections), it would be so no longer.

The objective must pay.

"Dippingsauce!" A voice hisses from upstairs. "I found it."

He paused mid-glue. "The answer to life?"

"No, better!"

Dipper quickly scrambles up the steps. The objective's room is mostly in tact; inexpensive things like posters have been damaged and thrown to the floor in shreds, but the furniture and clothing are safe.

Mabel points to an ancient, dirty white computer sitting on an office desk, flanked by an old school keyboard and mouse. He's honestly surprised the thing still gets internet, let alone social media.

"Breaking this could easily get us arrested." He whispers.

"It's so old, it was gonna die soon anyway." She dismisses. "I'll rock, paper, scissors you for it."

He nods. Mabel throws out scissors. Dipper holds out a rock.

"Hey, no fair!"

"You always choose scissors." He answers, smug.

"Scissors make art projects come to life!" She defended, pouting. "Fine, but I call the keyboard."

They trade weapons, the better for destruction. Dipper swings the bat over his head, pausing. He'd learned from Gravity Falls that hesitation was okay, but faltering was the key to failure.

Mabel hates prisons.

He hates prisons, but to a lesser degree.

This could possibly get them both locked up _in_ prison.

Well, it was too late now, in the heart of objective territory.

Dipper brought the bat down onto the machine with a satisfying crunch.

* * *

 

The rest is tedious cleanup work, or a version thereof.

Finishing the gluing- and/or taping, depending on the fabric involved- and checking for any and all fingerprints to wipe away. Etc, etc. The boring things.

Their getaway car, parked ten blocks away outside of a greasy spoon, which they stop and eat dinner at, fires up immediately. Dipper takes the wheel, simply because Mabel doesn't like driving.

"We did a bad thing tonight." She comments. The light of battle has left her eyes, leaving her slouching in her seat. He's no better; shoulders limp and grip on the wheel weak at best, but it's always like this after the fact.

"Yeah."

"But it was for the right reasons."

Dipper shrugs.

"We did something wrong, but we probably won't get caught for it."

"We're sneaky like that." He agreed.

"We're bad people." She states flatly.

There isn't anything he can say to that, so he doesn't. Mabel sighs and leans back, catching his eye.

"If it was so wrong, how come I don't feel guilty?"

Because they spent up all of their guilt in Gravity Falls. Since they haven't really felt _anything_ normally since Gravity Falls. They're numb and drained.

Dipper merely shrugs, unwilling to speak such thoughts aloud. "I dunno, Mabes."

Mabel rolls over and sleeps the rest of the way home.

**Author's Note:**

> I never said these kids would grow up to do the right thing.


End file.
